


Ties That Break, Ties That Bind

by Engelikal



Series: The Fire That Burned The Archdemon [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bondage, Emotionally Damaged Elves Working Towards a Functional and Healthy Relationship, Implied/Referenced Past Non-Con, Is a Warning All Its Own, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pages and Pages of Sex, Porn with Feelings, Zevran’s Past, author there are feelings in my porn, but like, fics that got away from me, with sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 13:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engelikal/pseuds/Engelikal
Summary: “Can you escape?” Eliysium asks, standing  back and surveying his handiwork.Zevran, in turn, puts a show on of testing out his binds.  Of course he can.  The soft, silken fabric tethering his limbs to the bedposts would come undone easily in his skilled hands. The knots holding his wrists in place would rest against the palms of his hands with the right rotation. Within easy reach of his fingers.  The ties on his ankles are loose enough that he could almost certainly wrench out of them.He struggles for effect.  “Ah.  It seems you have me at your mercy, my dear Warden.”Eliysium Surana and Zevran try out bondage together for the first time.  It does not go how Zev expects.  As per usual, this is a good thing.





	

 

 

“Are you serious?”  Eliysium asks, out of nowhere, as they tromp back from washing themselves in a lake not far away from their current camp.

 

“Of course.  I’m always serious.”  Zevran says, grinning and forgetting to sound suitably grave when he offers up his response.  His eyes are caught on the freshly blooming bruise of a love bite that is not quite hidden by the collar of Eliysium’s robes.  He is so besotted by it that he’d like to work on it some more, he thinks, so he deftly snatches the Mage's sleeve, pulling him into an embrace before tugging at the hem of Eliysium’s perfectly neat Magi robes and pulling the flesh between his teeth, worrying at it until he feels confident that it will be too deep a purple to hide or explain away.  “I am serious about lovemaking, and assassinating, if not much else.  How lucky that you should happen to fall within both categories, no?”

 

The Grey Warden is (and always has been) an expert at seemingly ignoring him.  Zevran would think him unaffected but he can feel Eliysium shiver, can hear the hitch in his breath.  Zevran leaves an apologizing kiss against the mottled bruise he’s made before pulling away, letting his dear Warden concentrate enough to elaborate.  They face each other, Zevran delicately arching a brow in question.

 

“All those jokes you make--” here, Eliysium does the most adorable impression of him, lowering his voice and putting on a comically overdrawn Antivan accent: “ _‘Let us get some extra rope and tie me up_ ’--are you serious about that?  That's something you actually enjoy?”

 

Zevran shrugs, “Under the right circumstances, why not?”  The Warden is quiet, seemingly mulling this new information over.  “It is a matter of trust, my dear Warden.  The act of offering yourself to another person; of surrendering your body, your _pleasure_ to someone else; I can think of nothing more intimate, more _sexual_ .”  The assassin smiles deviously, allowing his voice to grow husky.  “And of course, on the flip side, there is the aspect of control.  I cannot say I would object to the thought of using that extra rope on you, mi dulce.  Having you completely at my mercy. Free to do with you what I choose…”  He pretends mull it over, looking Eliysium up and down shamelessly.  “Hmm, yes, I can see it now…  You are always so tightly wound, should you not feel what it is to have someone else in charge for a change?  Think of it, it could be quite the beneficial arrangement: _I_ tie you up, _you_ scream my name...”  He trails off, meaningfully.  He has his doubts that the Warden would ever be able to let himself go in such a manner, but it is a favorite fantasy of his nonetheless, and one he is willing to share, _especially_ if the end result is Zevran himself tied down and screaming.

 

Eliysium smiles wryly, a faint breath of a laugh escaping his lips.  The high points of his cheeks are turning a soft coral.  His ears are completely red with blushing. It makes a  stunning picture.  “A matter of trust you say?  Remind me: how long ago was it that you tried to kill me?”

 

Zevran tries to smile, though it fits on his face like a grimace.  His stomach sours, arousal forgotten near instantaneously.  He takes a step back, involuntarily, holding his hands up.  He has spent a long many months dancing away from and carefully side stepping that topic.  After Eliysium came so close to the truth last time they spoke about his attempted assassination, the Mage has been gracious enough but Zevran is not so foolish as to believe it forgotten.  It is best not to tread in that direction, so Zevran pulls back, entirely.

 

“Of course, if it is something that makes you uncomfortable, we need not pursue it.  When bringing something new into the bedroom--or, tent, rather--if both parties are not interested then it is a waste, is it not?”

 

They finish their trek back to camp in silence, the conversation apparently finished for all intents and purposes.  Zevran tries to shrug it all off, expertly evading his own racing thoughts and fears.  When the two reach their destination, Eliysium speaks again.

 

“I never said I was not interested,” he points out, and is gone (off to keep Alistair from ruining tonight's dinner) before Zevran can respond.

 

A slow grin spreads across the Antivan’s face.

  


They are in the middle of a quick and rather spirited romp about a week later, skin sticking together with Summer sweat and half of their clothes still on when Eliysium wrenches first one of his hands above his head, and then the other.  The thinly-boned Mage swaps their positions forcibly, until they are no longer laying in a tangle of limbs side-by-side, but rather he is straddling Zevran.  Holding him down and pressing hard, demanding kisses to his lips the likes of which he has never felt from the Warden.

 

Zevran moans, long and loud and perhaps a tad desperately as Eliysium grinds their hips together.  Zevran comes, quickly, so quick it is a surprise to him.

 

It is the first time, during their many forays, that he has met his end before the Warden has.

 

Eliysium pauses above him, breathing hard as he watches Zevran come down, a look in his eyes that Zevran could mistake as mesmerized or even _fond_ if he is not careful.  He moves to correct his err, to get the Warden off with his mouth or hands or-- _this is not what his training taught him_ \--but Eliysium pushes him back down, bringing himself to completion with his own hand and the taste of Zevran’s lips against his own.

 

Zevran expects admonishment or laughter or punishment for allowing himself to come first but instead his Warden just...hovers.  Still holding his wrists tightly above his head.  It is the closest they ever get to cuddling, these long, drawn out moments of still touching, still breathing each other's air, still gravitating in each other's space but afraid to reach out and ask for more.

 

More.

 

Zevran _wants._

 

He is losing control of himself.

 

He needs to pull back again, before he is in too deep.

 

“Is it really something you enjoy?” Eliysium reiterates, his voice far away, still panting in the post-orgasm haze.  “You want for me to tie you down and,” and the crudest of words sound sweet when coming from his mouth, “fuck you?  Not a doubt in your mind?”

 

Zevran smiles easily in return.  He is used to lying after sex.

 

“Not a one.”

  


“Can you escape?” Eliysium asks, standing back and surveying his handiwork.  

 

Zevran, in turn, puts a show on of testing out his binds.  Of course he can.  The soft, silken fabric tethering his limbs to the bedposts would come undone easily in his skilled hands. The knots holding his wrists in place would rest against the palms of his hands with the right rotation. Within easy reach of his fingers.  The ties on his ankles are loose enough that he could almost certainly wrench out of them.  

 

He struggles for effect.  “Ah.  It seems you have me at your mercy, my dear Warden.”

 

Surana’s expression, contrary to Zevan’s expectations, is not pleased.  “I fail to see how I can tie them any _worse_ than I already have to ensure your ability to escape.” He says flatly.

 

Of course he wishes for Zevran to be able to escape.  Why should anything about this be the way he expected?  Why should anything be _ordinary_ when it comes to Eliysium Surana?

 

Zevran is pulled out of his bemused state when the Warden climbs on top of him.

 

It is not a sexual act, despite Zevran’s naked body.  The way the loose silken fabric of his aegan blue night shift brushes against Zevran’s bare skin is tantalising.  Tantalising and maddening, the way it punctuates the fact that they are barely touching, the way it makes Zevran want for more as Eliysium continues _not touching him enough_ , knees resting at either side of his hips, hands bracing his weight against the mattress at either side of Zevran’s face.

 

Strands of Eliysium’s hair kiss his cheeks as the Mage leans in, as he keeps leaning in, until their noses are barely touching.  “If you are not going to be honest then this isn't going to work.”  Surana whispers.

 

It is a fact.  Not an admonishment.

 

“I should punish you for lying to me” he continues, still whispering as his eyes flit over Zevran's expression, as his face nestles against Zevran’s neck, “I _could._ You’re completely at my mercy. I could do anything I want with you.  Couldn't I, Zevran?”  Zevran shudders, hard.  He has been tied down, helpless, and heard those words before, or at least their likeness.  Shakily, he manages to croak out a brief affirmative.  ‘Yes’ had been his answer, his only option, so many times in the past.  And he told the Warden this was about trust, he thinks bitterly.  

 

Trust.

 

What a joke.

 

Zevran can't even trust _himself_.

 

The drag of lips against his pulse is achingly sweet.  Enough to dash the memories from his mind.  

 

It is an experience that is more intimate than it is sexual, but it has Zevran groaning quietly just the same.  Eliysium breathes his hot breath against Zevran’s neck and caresses his face with his fingertips and kisses the point where his heart beats softly and it makes him feel wanted and fragile and both amazing and gut wrenchingly **awful** all in one fell swoop.

 

He relaxes, because feeling awful is something familiar.  Something to cling to in this overwhelming sea of _new_ and _different_ .  He breathes out a long exhale, something like a sigh of relief, and surrenders himself to the situation, however it might play out.  It is not the first time he has done so.  It _is_ the first time he has had a _choice_ in the matter.

 

Clever, his Warden.  Punctuating his threats with the reminder that Zevran could escape, could put a stop to this at any time.  Zevran tests one of his silken manacles, just to feel it give way against the minimal effort, just to remind himself that he can.

 

Eliysium must feel the shift in him, must feel the moment of _voluntary_ surrender, because the next thing Zevran knows, they are kissing.  It is a deep, slow kiss.  Eliysium’s lips are soft against his as they drag together, barely parting for breath when it is necessary, so close that Zevran can feel their lips touch even when their tongues are not tangling.

 

They linger next to each other, merely sharing breath, just as often as they kiss.  Both fulfill a need in him that he is not entirely ready to acknowledge yet.

 

He lets his hips buck up playfully as the Warden leans back to begin untying his robes, diligently ignoring the fact that a few drawn out kisses were enough to get him trying to catch his breath.  He is already more than half hard but, as Eliysium’s robes drop from off his shoulders to pool around his waist and thighs, he sees that he is not the only one.

 

“As you will, my Warden.”  Zevran goads, offering himself up to his lover’s whims.

 

Eliysium does not seem inclined to rush, his touches light and bordering dangerously on teasing as his hands caress and explore Zevran’s torso. Torturous as that is, Zevran is happy to enjoy the journey.  

 

As punishments go, it is awfully enjoyable.  Perhaps, if this is Eliysium’s brand of discipline, he will have to earn it more often.

 

They kiss again, hot and wet, but it ends far too soon, with Eliysium trailing his spit slicked lips along Zevran's jaw, following the line up to his ear.  The gentle nip he places to the lobe has him shuddering, the whispered promise of Eliysium’s breath pulling the air from his own lungs.

 

He is helpless against the onslaught of sensation.  He _knows_ he could free himself but he _chooses_ to stay and _it is--_

 

He moans loudly at the first stroke to his engorged prick, head lulling back in pleasure even as he fights to keep his eyes slitted, focused on Eliysium.

 

_Overwhelming._

 

Eliysium’s kisses trail down his chest, a wet path down to his navel, and finally, _finally_ , his hand is replaced by his mouth.  The angle at which Zevran has to crane his neck to watch is awkward even with the plush pillow beneath his head, but he can never manage to pass up an opportunity to watch his Warden swallow cock.  The way his pretty pink lips part to take in Zevran’s length, the way his long, dark eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, the way his brow furrows just the tiniest bit in concentration.  The way he glances up, meeting Zevran’s eyes and holding his gaze as rubs his lips across the engorged head, teasing the sensitive flesh.  Zevran’s hips twitch involuntarily, hands moving to cling to the ropes that still bind him, grounding himself with that which holds him captive.

 

Eliysium pays homage to every part of him, his soft, pale hands so _good_ against every inch of Zevran’s skin.  He does not know every erogenous spot, has not been trained for years to be a skilled lover like Zevran has, but somehow he discovers points of pleasure on Zevran's body that even he, himself, did not know existed.

 

When Eliysium’s finger circles, at last, around Zevran’s entrance, he breaths a sigh of relief in spite of himself.  He feels as if he had been held on the edge for hours, enduring the pleasant torture of his Warden’s hot mouth around him, waiting endlessly for Surana to join him there.

 

“You are a cruel man.”  Zevran accuses, trying to press against Surana's fingers, to urge the man inside of his body with a little less precision and a little more haste.

 

Eliysium hums in reply, glancing up from his work of making a mess of Zevran, the vibration around his cock causing Zevran’s back to arch and toes to curl.  The sound he makes when the Warden pulls away is little more than a broken gasp.  His prick stands at attention, saliva and precome dripping onto his abdomen as the Warden leaves the bed, walking towards the nightstand where a vial of ointment is waiting.  “It _is_ a punishment, Zevran.”  Eliysium reminds him, taking a seat on the heretofore innocuously placed chair beside the bed instead of joining Zevran.

 

Said chair is cushioned, somewhat tacky and cheaply ornamental but for the moment it may as well be the Gold Throne itself.  Eliysium takes a seat on it, legs splayed lewdly apart, one foot resting on the arm rest.  Zevran has a more than adequate view of Eliysium’s hole.  The oil, it seems, is not for him.  He watches Surana cover his fingers in lube, thinking to himself: what he wouldn’t give to run his tongue across Eliysium’s entrance right now, to hear the Warden fight to muffle cries of satisfaction while Zevran tongue fucks him.   What he wouldn’t give to have it be his fingers, fighting against the resistance of Eliysium’s flesh, searching for the spot that makes him forget to hush his voice.  

 

As it is, it seems he must content himself in watching the little Mage loosen himself.  He is trapped in place, hanging on every pleasured sigh.  Zevran has, admittedly, always taken a significant amount of time (and pleasure) preparing Eliysium, and Eliysium himself seems to have no intentions of doing anything but.  Somehow the wait is so much more bearable when he has the man in his arms, moaning as he surrenders himself to Zevran’s ministrations, whimpering as his body opens, the feeling of his tight walls clenching around Zevran’s fingers--

 

“Keep up your teasing, my dear Warden and I will break free and take you myself.”  Zevran warns, the edge in his voice a playful thing even as he feels his erection throb painfully.

 

“Will you?”  Eliysium tempts, coating his fingers in more oil and circling his pink little hole one more time.  “But that would ruin the game, wouldn’t it?”  The look he gives Zevran would put a desire demon to shame.  As he saunters over to the bed, Zevran is not entirely sure that he isn't one.  Surely, it would make more sense than the situation he has somehow found himself in.

 

Being not only desired but respected, possibly even cherished. And by someone so...so--

 

_Warm._

 

Zevran has never been a quiet lover, but the sound he makes as Eliysium takes him into his body is nothing short of a yell.  Zevran realizes, without much thought given to truly caring, that he is being loud, even by his standards.  Then Eliysium sets a steady rhythm, hard and fast right from the get go, and he thinks of nothing but the heat, the motion.  The lips against his, the silk tethering him in place, the urgency of his need versus the craving to stay like this forever.

 

The end comes, no matter how hard Zevran fights it, and soon they lay tangled in a mess of limbs.  Eliysium moves as if he barely has the strength to free Zevran’s hands, so Zevran does them both a favor and frees the one foot that is still tied by himself, all pretenses of him being trapped officially broken.  He doesn't waste any time in using his newfound freedom to capture the Warden in an embrace, pulling him down into a long kiss.

 

Ordinarily, this would be the time he watched his mark take their final breath.

 

The sound of Eliysium catching his is the purest music.

 

“Was it everything you expected?”  Eliysium asks, gingerly resting his head against Zevran’s shoulder.  Neither of them are accustomed to cuddling, so it is a bit awkward trying to figure out how they fit, but whatever strange spell has a hold of them is enough to smooth out their edges, until they are pressed together as comfortably as if they were made for one another.

  
“No.”  Zevran answers.  Eliysium looks at him, understanding, and doesn't ask him to explain.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't always write smut, but when I do it has BDSM under(over)tones.
> 
> Also. It is entirely possible that this is my first posted smut. Maybe?? Possibly? God, I always write stuff and then find some reason not to post it. I will probably be really embarrassed about this later. Or now.  
> Welp.


End file.
